


His Downton Abbey

by repmetsyrrah



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/repmetsyrrah/pseuds/repmetsyrrah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes with Sybil and Tom re-imagined in a world with dæmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not a true crossover but borrows a concept from the 'His Dark Materials' series. Also not really a huge rewrite, the plot runs the same as the show but the scenes are a little different.

“We should be going,” Cora sighed, as they walked through the village, “we won’t want to be late. The chauffeur has probably been waiting a while already.”

“The new one?” Edith asked. “Have you seen him?”

“Your father has. He’s Irish,” Cora told them, “but he came with good references.”

Sybil frowned. “So long as he can drive I shouldn’t think it mattered,” she remarked

“Of course not,” her mother agreed, smiling softly. The large cheetah that padded beside her lifted his head to look at her but said nothing.

They turned the corner and spotted the Renault, though Sybil’s attention was drawn to the man standing next to it. He wore the same uniform as Taylor had, but Sybil thought he couldn’t have been more different, the fact he was so much younger than the previous chauffeur being the most obvious thing- and much more handsome, Sybil couldn’t help noticing.

But almost as soon as she noticed him, she couldn’t help but also notice his dæmon, the sheer size of the Irish Wolfhound making it almost impossible not to notice.

Sybil felt her eyebrows lift. Her neck tickled as her own dæmon, Apollo, who took the form of an ermine, shifted from his position curled around it and raised his head. “Carson can’t have liked that,” he murmured in her ear.

As if to illustrate his point the man’s dæmon got up and jumped into the motor, causing the vehicle to move quite significantly, though when the creature had settled the car was still and seemed balanced despite the extra weight.

“Well he hired him anyway,” Sybil pointed out, “so he must be decent. And at least it’s a dog,” she added, remembering the flurry Thomas and his seagull had caused upon their arrival.

Visible servants traditionally had dog dæmons. And even if that idea was considered old-fashioned nowadays, their butler was a very old-fashioned man.

Of course in a house where the Lord’s dæmon was a golden labrador and two daughters had a fox and a hyena, dog dæmons and the like weren’t in short supply.

For some reason Sybil found herself liking the man and his large dæmon. He had the ‘right’ sort of dæmon but it still seemed as if he had shunned the expectation of his rank. He toed the line, but did so to his own tune.

“Why is Sybil having a new dress and not me?” Edith asked, a pout in her voice as, Winston, her hyena stepped closer to her, as if offering comfort for what was clearly a terrible oversight.

“Because it’s Sybil’s turn,” Cora reminded her gently, as her dæmon nipped softly at Winston, a more overt reprimand.

“Can it be my choice this time?” Sybil asked hopefully.

“Of course, darling. As long as you choose what I choose.”

“As usual,” Apollo muttered in her ear as she frowned.

Edith gave her a sympathetic smile but Cora didn’t notice, turning to the chauffeur. “Branson, you’ll be taking Lady Sybil to Ripon tomorrow. She’ll be leaving after luncheon,” she instructed him.

“Certainly, Your Ladyship,” he said, the model of the perfect servant.

“You know Madame Swann will make us the same dress anyway,” Apollo reminded her. “She always does.”

“I know,” Sybil agreed, before sighing louder, an idea coming to her. “Poor old Madame Swann, I don’t know why we bother with fittings. She always makes the same frock.”

As she had expected her mother ignored the hint but Edith didn’t, one hand resting on her dæmon’s head as she asked. “What do you want her to make?”

“Something new and exciting,” Sybil told her, images of the daring frocks she’d seen in the drawings of Léon Basket springing to mind.

“Heavens, look at the time,” their mother sighed, ending the discussion of the frock without acknowledging it. “Not a minute to change. And Granny’s invited herself for dinner.”

“Well she can jolly well wait,” Sybil told her, growing tired of everyone else dictating what they should be doing.

“So, women’s rights begin at home,” Cora commented, “I see. Well, I’m all for that.”

They laughed and on the floor, under the dashboard, the large dog’s ears pricked up and, though Sybil never saw, in the front seat next to the dæmon, her companion smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

“Will you have your own way, do you think?”

The question took Sybil by surprise, though she wasn’t upset as she knew her sisters might have been at a servant speaking so unexpectedly to her. In fact, some conversation might be nice. visits to Madam Swann’s were always terribly dull.

Apollo seemed to think the same, running up her arm to sit on her shoulder, for a better view.

“With the frock?” the man clarified after she hesitated. “Only, I couldn’t help overhearing yesterday, and from what Her Ladyship said, it sounded as if you support women’s rights.”

As he talked, Apollo leapt from Sybil’s arm to the front seat and scurried down. He jumped, landing on the back of the front seat before heading down to where the man’s massive Irish Wolfhound dæmon was curled up, filling the entire foot space of the passenger side.

She wondered what he did when driving servants who arrived with guests. He must have some manner of fitting them or he’d never have been hired. Carson wouldn’t allow such breaches in conduct.

The dog’s massive head came up to blink at Apollo as the ermine raised himself on his hind legs and leaned forward, so their noses almost touched. Sybil watched the two inspect one another, feeling oddly small. Apollo wasn’t big for a dæmon, but he was certainly of a convenient size.

She wondered how he slept with so large a companion. Certainly not like she did with Apollo, on her pillow or on cold nights, curled up close to her chest inside her nightgown.

“This is Saoirse,” Branson said, noticing the ermine, who seemed satisfied with the greeting then and nodded once before rejoining his human on the back seat.

“That’s Apollo,” Sybil replied, coming back to herself, trying not to blush as she realised she’d been thinking about the rather personal nature of his sleeping habits. “But yes, to answer your question, I suppose I do.”

It appeared to be what he was hoping to hear.

“Because I’m quite political. In fact, I brought some pamphlets that I thought might interest you- about the vote.”

He reached over picking up some papers from the seat beside him and handing them back to her. Sybil took them eagerly,

“Thank you.”

The words felt inadequate at properly expressing her gratitude. No one had ever taken her interest in the vote seriously before. She flipped thought the pamphlets, her eyes widening at every one.

“Can you imagine if your father saw these?” Apollo was back on her shoulder now, his voice low and heard by her only.

“Or worse, Granny.” In fact-

“Please don’t mention this to my father, or my grandmother,” she asked, louder, her words directed at the chauffeur, “One whiff of reform and she hears the rattle of the guillotine.”

She was relieved when he nodded. Though, really, he’d probably be worse off than her if anyone found out.

“A boring trip to the dressmakers isn’t it?” Apollo whispered, amused, in her ear, reminding her of all the complaining she had done that morning. Sybil smiled as she looked down at the pamphlets. “Though I wouldn’t have expected this.”

Sybil agreed with that, lifting her head again. “It seems rather unlikely. A revolutionary chauffeur.”

“Maybe.”

She could hear the smile in his voice and for some unknown reason she felt herself smile in return.

“But I’m a socialist, not a revolutionary. And I won’t always be a chauffeur.”

“Coming from a man with the gall to speak so openly to a Lady on his second day?” Apollo murmured in her ear. “I don’t doubt  _that_ at all.”


	3. Chapter 3

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Tom Branson turned and frowned at his dæmon as she padded beside him.

“She asked us to come.”

The Irish Wolfhound looked up and fixed him with a firm look. “And we, as the older and more worldly, ought to know better than to encourage her.”

“Encourage her?” Tom rolled his eyes. “What are we encouraging? Whatever she’s planning she’ll go through with it regardless.”

“I think you know what I mean.”

He didn’t reply, his silence very much confirming the dæmon’s statement.

They continued in silence. Tom, not for the first time, found himself wishing he’d been blessed with a less cautious companion.

He knew her protectiveness and concern were born from a desire to protect him, an instinct ingrained in her since their harsh childhood. He sometimes suspected that was part of the reason she had settled into such a large form. Her size tended to make anyone think twice before causing trouble with them.

He loved her dearly of course, and she him, but he did sometimes wish she’d learn to have more fun, take a few more risks.

“This was the one wasn’t it?” he asked, as they approached the window.

“You know it is,” Saoirse told him unhelpfully, still expressing her disapproval.

He rolled his eyes again and the pair waited in silence for Sybil to appear, listening to the vague murmurings in the room before the door opened and- “Good evening, everyone.”

Tom didn’t understand at first but his eyes swept the full length of the blue outfit she was wearing and he laughed in delight.

Pants. The girl was wearing pants.

Ladies’ pants certainly but in a way that was even better. She wasn’t playing dress-up, this was entirely and completely  _her_.

He laughed, shaking his head as he watched her model them proudly.

“You have to see this.”

Saoirse made a sound somewhere between annoyed and disapproving and sprung up, resting her front paws on the sill so she could see into the room.

Tom waited a moment before- “My, my, that is a daring frock.”

“She is something, isn’t she?”

“Quite.” And for all her disapproval and discouragement there was a note of amusement in the dæmon’s voice.

Tom just shook his head in disbelief as Lady Sybil proudly showed off her new frock. A flash of white appeared on her shoulder and Tom dropped suddenly below the window as the ermine turned his head towards them.

“Did he see us?”

“Of course,” Saoirse assured him, dropping to the ground with much less urgency. “But given he was  _there_  when she told us to come, I doubt we’ll be given away.”

“Right.” Tom nodded a bit sheepishly. Saoirse gave an amused sigh and the pair began to make their way back around the house, keeping silent until Tom was sure they were out of earshot and he let himself laugh.

“Lord, I wish I’d had a better view of their faces, can you imagine?”

He turned to his dæmon, expecting to see her at least looking slightly happy but instead found a silent, thoughtful companion pacing by his side.

He sighed. “What is it  _now_?”

Saoirse looked up at him for a long moment before speaking.

“Be careful.”

The words confused him for a moment until he realised what she meant and laughed.

“You’ve  _got_  to be kidding. Could you really see me falling for an English  _Lady_?” He shook his head. “You may know me better than anyone in the world, but you’ve certainly gotten the wrong idea here.”

Saoirse only sighed.

“I very much hope that’s true.”


End file.
